Last Heirs of Slytherin
by Alexannah
Summary: Harry returns to Privet Drive with Fawkes for company, but his magic is going haywire and the beginning of answers may be found in the cupboard under the stairs. HPLL SSNT ADMM
1. Prologue: The Lost Heir

**Rating/****Warnings:** M for child abuse

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

**Last Heirs of Slytherin**

By Alexannah  
**  
Prologue: The Lost Heir**

_Hogwarts_

There was a room in Hogwarts that was empty.

It was not empty physically – there was baby furniture painted soft blue with yellow stars, a toybox full to bursting, a couple of blankets and a stuffed teddy or two on the floor. The cot was white with a Quidditch mobile hanging above it. On the wall was a row of nursery pictures – unicorns and mermaids and dragons – and on the top of the toybox lay a blue book with gold lettering on. Out of everything in the room, it was the only item not covered in a thin layer of dust.

The room was empty of an occupant and had been for some time.

* * *

_Ministry of Magic, Some Time Previously_

"This way, Mr and Mrs Potter."

James eagerly followed the Ministry worker. Lily lagged behind slightly. Was it too early? They had been talking about this for months but she still wasn't sure whether she was ready to be a mother. In the end she'd agreed to stop James banging on about it. He was the exited one. She was terrified.

The Ministry worker directed them through a door to an office. Lily sat nervously down, feeling as if she was about to be interrogated about a crime. Lily only listened as James answered questions like what age a child were they looking for, and were they intending to adopt or have their own children later on. It seemed to take forever. Finally the worker stood and showed them through to a new room.

There were several of what looked like Healers, only with a different uniform, tending to at least six infants from newborns to two-year-olds. Lily's eyes suddenly teared up. All of these children had either lost their parents, been taken away from them for some reason, or abandoned.

She and James were left alone to look. It didn't take long. Lily, who until then had been reluctant to go through with the adoption, changed her mind the moment she laid eyes on the second-youngest. Although his birth date wasn't known, he was estimated to be about four months old. The little hair he had was jet-black and stuck up in a funny tuft, and his eyes were a beautiful bright blue, the same colour as his baby grow and the blanket tucked round him. Both had his name, Harry, stitched on carefully. His parents must have died, because there was no way the same parent who had lovingly embroidered them could have abandoned him.

Lily's heart instantly went out to the child, and she knew they had been right to come after all.

* * *

_Same Place, Some Time Before That_

"How? _How_ can a _baby_ have got from the Auror Office to the Adoption Office?" the Minister bellowed. "Find it! Deaken, get that – _child_ – back here. Now!"

Deaken hurried down to the Adoption Office as fast as he could. He didn't know why the child had to be destroyed, only that if he didn't do his job he would lose it. He had to find a four-month (approximately) old baby with a blue personalised blanket. It shouldn't be too hard. Once he found and delivered the poor wretch he could go home and forget it ever happened over a nice bottle of Firewhisky.

He found two boys, both with blue blankets. One had a name stitched on. The other had initials. He looked back and forth between them. The one with the name had black hair and the one with the initials red. He hesitated. If he delivered the wrong child he would be fired for sure. But he couldn't go all the way back up four floors to ask what colour hair it had, and if he took both up he would have to bring one back down. Deaken wasn't in great health and wanted to continue earning for as long as possible before his retirement – most of his earnings had gone on gambling. He looked back and forth between the boys, torn. In the end he decided it was like a casino and decided which was the best bet.

"Sorry," he whispered to the redhead. "But if I don't I'll lose my job."

With that, he turned his back on the rows of cots and carried the baby out of the room.

**TBC …**

**AN:** The identity of the redhead isn't important, before you all start guessing away. He's just an innocent victim. Even I don't know who he is. Poor thing.


	2. Sight and Scent

**Chapter One: Sight and Scent**

It had started on May the 29th.

Harry was watching the world fly past out of the window of the Hogwarts Express, brooding. Ron and Hermione, deeply absorbed in a chess match (no prizes to guess who was winning) were sparing only the odd glance.

May 29th. Harry didn't know why the date was important, but every year on that day it had felt significant for some reason. He could always remember the events on that day for every year of his life, even if nothing in particular had happened. The one this last year had been the most notable of them all. Harry had woken at midnight on the dot, gasping in pain. Somehow, inexplicably, he knew it was connected with the date.

He'd never mentioned any of this to anyone. How could he? They wouldn't understand. Ever since that night, Harry had a nagging awareness that something in him was changing. It scared him but he pushed it down, concentrating on other things. It was one more worry, but this he couldn't talk about at all.

Every morning there were just a few seconds when he allowed himself to remember – when he was in front of the mirror. But he pushed it aside and thought of other things.

Everyone jumped as there was a flash of light in the compartment. Harry jumped up, wand in his hand, but Fawkes had materialised and dropped an envelope on the seat next to him. As Harry stood frozen, registering that there was no threat, Fawkes settled down next to him, crooning softly at him as if to calm him.

"That's Dumbledore's phoenix, isn't it?" Hermione said, puzzled. "What's he doing here?"

Harry picked up the letter, vaguely recognising the looped handwriting, and slit it open.

_Dear Harry,_

We haven't had a chance to talk since our encounter in my office – I was hoping to catch you before the train left, but got cornered by Professor Snape on the way. Perhaps this is better – I feared losing the words and looking even more of a fool than you must think me now.

_That_ was unexpected. It didn't sound like Dumbledore at all – at least, not the one Harry knew. He saw Hermione's eyebrows raise as she and Ron read over his shoulder.

_I realise after everything that has happened, and everything you are going through, I must do something to make it slightly easier for you and – hopefully – redeem myself slightly in your eyes. Fawkes gave me the idea this morning; he has been a faithful companion for many years and I hope you find his presence as comforting as I in my hour of need. He adjusts well to new surroundings and seemed eager to see you again._

"He's lent you Fawkes?" Ron said in amazement. "He _must_ be feeling guilty."

Hermione sniffed. "And with good reason."

Harry privately thought the same thing.

_I will make a visit soon into the holiday and we can talk more then, but for now, just know that I am making changes and hope that things will work out for the better in the future._

See you soon,  
Albus Dumbledore

_PS: Fawkes eats herbs and occasionally chocolate. Don't worry about feeding him regularly, just leave a plate of mixed herbs (I enclosed a packet) on the windowsill and he will help himself as he pleases. If you find him stealing your sweets (he is usually very well-behaved, but it has been known to happen), add a few chocolate chips and he will not do it again._

Harry couldn't help but smile slightly at the postscript, but remained silent as he pocketed the letter thoughtfully.

-----

It was dark. It was always dark.

Severus breathed evenly, his eyes closed. He looked terrible: so pale and so drawn if he hadn't been breathing he could have been dead. He was lying still on a four-posted bed, the hangings old and worn and black. The peeling walls had once been painted apricot but now looked grey and cold. The moth-eaten curtains, pulled across the grimy, opaque windows, were faded green. Around the bed was a cluster of tables lined with potions bottles and parchment. It had been a project Voldemort set Severus the moment he rejoined the Death Eaters. The bottles were dusty, only a few of them looked as if they had recently been moved. One single vial had a tube running into Severus' arm. This potion was all that was keeping him alive.

_"Wormtail here has done a little research on you, Severus."_

"He has, my Lord?" Something in his master's voice set Severus' heart beating faster than usual.

"Yes, indeed. How much do you know about your father?"

And those words, spoken with a delicacy that projected more information than a library, told Severus that his time had come. Voldemort knew.

Voldemort visited Severus from time to time. It was the only thing that changed in the room. Severus had no idea how long he'd been there. It could have been weeks. It could just have easily been years. He had lost track of time almost immediately. Once he'd refused Voldemort's offer, he'd been shut up here and never seen the light of day since. The door wasn't even kept locked anymore. Severus was too weak to move from the bed.

Footsteps told him Voldemort was making one of his visits. He dragged his eyes open. The wizard – if one could still call him that – hadn't changed since his last visit. He looked the same as always: inhuman.

"How are you, my dear Severus?" Voldemort's words were like sugar-coated poison. Severus drew on his limited strength to wet his mouth so he could talk – well, communicate, anyway.

"The same." They came out as a whispered croak, but nonetheless coherent – just.

"You still deny who you are." Although Voldemort's voice sounded hurt, Severus knew it was pretend.

"I don't deny it. I simply dislike it." Severus met the red eyes squarely. "You don't want _me_. You just want power. And any role you pretend to want to fill in my life has already been filled."

The words had drained him, but the satisfaction from the look on Voldemort's face was worth it. Severus felt the nagging from his mind trying to shut down and let it take him over.

Hopefully this would be the last time he ever saw Voldemort.

-----

"Who the ruddy hell are you?"

The words spoken by his uncle made Harry's heart sink.

"It's me, Uncle Vernon. As much as I would like to be someone else, rather than stuck with you for the summer, here I am." As Harry spoke, he briefly marvelled how he'd managed to lead the Dursleys all the way to the station car park before any of them had noticed that he looked nothing like himself.

He'd known it. He'd realised he was changing slowly, too slowly for anyone to notice. But the Dursleys hadn't seen him every day since the night it had began, unlike the students and teachers of Hogwarts.

Vernon glared at him suspiciously, seemed to decide not to make a scene, and tugged the car door open rather more forcefully than was necessary. "Whatever you've done to yourself, just make sure you reverse it before the neighbours start asking questions. Get in."

Harry chose to ignore his uncle and just climbed in the car. The journey back to Privet Drive was made in complete silence, and Harry just stared out of the window, trying to see past his reflection.

What was happening to him?

The car journey was long and silent. Harry felt himself drifting off, only waking when the car stopped and the Dursleys getting out. He followed wearily, grabbed a plate from the kitchen and made his way up to his room with his trunk.

Fawkes trilled at him from the windowsill as he entered, having obviously been waiting for him since disappearing as the train had stopped. Harry dumped his trunk, pulled out the mixed herbs Dumbledore had enclosed, and followed his instructions before turning to the wardrobe.

Harry opened the door and looked in his reflection properly for the first time in months.

It could have been a different person staring out from the glass. He sighed and slumped back onto the bed. There was no escaping it now. Something was happening to him and he was scared. He couldn't push it away any more but he didn't have a clue what to do.

"Fawkes, help me," Harry murmured miserably.

The phoenix trilled again, soothing his nerves, and suddenly took off out of the bedroom. Curious, Harry followed. Fawkes led him to his old cupboard. Checking to make sure the Dursleys weren't around, Harry opened it and spotted what Fawkes had led him to.

One item he had not touched since he left for Hogwarts. He'd told himself that he was no longer a baby, he didn't need it. Harry lifted up and unfolded a blanket.

It had been left with a couple of others, wrapped round him to keep him warm when he'd been left on the doorstep. The others, plain and white, had been thrown out years ago but Harry couldn't bear to part with the closest link to his mother.

It was soft, baby blue, his name embroidered lovingly – "Harry". He raised it to his face and inhaled. In all the years, it hadn't lost its Mum smell; Harry knew it well. His mother smelled of bubble bath and old books with a trace of herbs. Although Lily had been good at school, Harry had never pictured her a bookworm, so the parchment part was a mystery … but it brought comfort when he needed it most.

"Thanks, Fawkes," he murmured.

The sound of footsteps announced the imminent approach of a Dursley, and Fawkes vanished again. Harry shut his cupboard door and made his way back upstairs.

-----

He woke suddenly, a few hours later, breathing heavily and one hand clutching tightly at his blanket. It took his several minutes to convince himself that he was alive, no Death Eaters were creeping up on him, and … well, he failed to convince himself Sirius was safe, because he knew all too well he wasn't.

The blanket dropped to the floor and Harry, still shaking slightly from the effects of the nightmare, leaned over to retrieve it. He lay back down, holding it close to his nose in the hope that he could convince himself that his mother was there.

Harry had a very good sense of smell and a memory for it. He'd once wondered briefly if it was linked to being a Parselmouth – he'd read somewhere that snakes had a good sense of smell too, and Voldemort appeared to as well. Giving up on sleep, Harry pulled open his trunk and searched inside for a moment before pulling out a Defence textbook and turning to a page on Parselmouths.

There wasn't really anything in it he didn't know already. Harry sighed and stared at the ceiling, letting the book slip from his fingers onto the floor with a small _thud_. His mind wouldn't shut down. He closed his eyes, but thoughts continued to flit about. He listened to the sounds of the Dursleys snoring broken by the occasional distant car. It must be have been well past midnight. For a long time he lay like this, trying to sleep, until a sudden creak of floorboards made him sit bolt upright, drawing his wand.

"Sweet Merlin, Harry!" the intruder gasped. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

Harry dropped his wand. "_Professor Dumbledore?_ What are you doing here?"

"Jumping out of my skin, for starters," Dumbledore said quietly, sitting down on the end of Harry's bed.

"_I_ made _you_ jump?"

"I'm sorry, I thought you were asleep. I was only checking in on you … More to set my mind at rest than anything."

Harry picked up his wand and replaced it under his pillow. The silence that stretched was awkward. Eventually, he decided to break it with, "Um, I don't have any chocolate chips."

"Pardon? … Oh – I'll bring some tomorrow for you." Dumbledore paused. "How are you and Fawkes getting on?"

"Good. It's nice to have him for company, especially when Hedwig's either asleep or hunting. Thanks, Professor."

"You're welcome. He loves having you around. Whenever you leave my office he glares at me for letting you go."

Harry chuckled, although he couldn't imagine Fawkes glaring at anyone, and especially not his master. As if he knew they were talking about him, Fawkes appeared in a flash and settled on Dumbledore's knee.

"Hello, Fawkes," Dumbledore greeted him, gently stroking his plumage. Fawkes enjoyed it for a moment or two, before taking flight again and settling on Harry's shoulder, where he proceeded to gently nibble his ear lobe affectionately, much like Hedwig did.

Dumbledore chuckled. "That means he adores you. Or that he's hungry," he added, his eyes twinkling.

"Hey Fawkes, don't eat my ear. Have some herbs instead."

Fawkes made a strange noise. It sounded a little like a chicken clucking.

"That's his laugh," said Dumbledore. "All right Fawkes, stop teasing the poor boy."

The phoenix stopped nibbling Harry's ear, and proceeded to nibble his hair instead. Harry found this highly amusing and less painful. Dumbledore also found it hilarious. Harry spotted his Defence textbook open on the floor and decided to ask.

"Professor, do you know if there's a link between being a Parselmouth and having a good sense of smell?"

Dumbledore looked surprised at the question. "Why?"

"It's just, my sense of smell's really good, and I think Voldemort's is too because he said something about being able to smell fear back in the graveyard. And snakes have a good sense of smell, don't they?"

"As far as I know, they do, although it's not exactly my area of expertise." Dumbledore paused. "That's a very interesting theory. I shall have to look into it." He looked at Harry. "What do I smell of?"

"Parchment, usually. So does Hermione." Harry inhaled. "Although right now, all I can smell is Firewhiskey."

"Really?" Dumbledore, to Harry's utter astonishment, turned his head and sniffed his robes. "That would be my brother. He knocked a round of drinks flying all over me this evening. I used a cleaning charm, but I would obviously be better off with soap powder."

Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed half past four. Harry struggled to prevent a yawn breaking out and, he thought, Dumbledore looked as tired as he.

"Goodness, it's late. You ought to be getting back to sleep, Harry."

"I'll be lucky," Harry muttered. Dumbledore looked at his shrewdly.

"Aren't you sleeping?"

"Not really."

"Nightmares?" Dumbledore asked gently. Harry swallowed and nodded, the atmosphere in the room tensing. Fawkes stopped nibbling his hair, sensing it, and instead nuzzled his neck.

Something dripped onto Harry's shoulder, and when he looked up he got a shock. A suddenly mournful-looking Fawkes had tears pouring down his face. Dumbledore noticed at the same time Harry did and sighed.

"I'm sorry Fawkes, you can't help," he said gently. Fawkes squawked at his master and rubbed his wet face against Harry's. "He can see you're hurting, Harry, and he wants to heal you. He can't understand that he can't."

"Oh, Fawkes." Harry smiled weakly. "There's nothing you can do, but I appreciate the thought."

"He may not stop now," Dumbledore murmured. "There was a time a few years ago when he cried non-stop for months … when -" He stopped. "Well, he cried a long time."

"How come?" Harry asked quietly.

Dumbledore looked at his in silence for a while, his expression unreadable. Finally he said almost silently, "I lost my son."

"Oh." Harry suddenly wished he hadn't asked, but Dumbledore continued.

"He was only six months old when he died … He would have been about your age now." Dumbledore suddenly smiled sadly, his mind elsewhere. "Funnily enough, his name was Harry too. Harrison Dumbledore … I often wonder what he would have been like, had he lived … what House would he have been in … what would he enjoy doing … But I find inevitably I end up thinking of him as you."

"I'm sorry," Harry said awkwardly. Dumbledore shook his head.

"Don't be. It's just difficult sometimes, to separate the two of you in my mind – I find I think and feel the same things about you than if you were him."

"I don't mind," Harry said softly. Dumbledore smiled, slightly wider this time, and hesitantly put an arm around him. Harry didn't flinch away from the touch as he would have done a week ago.

Silence fell between the two again, but it was not awkward this time.

**TBC …**

**Review Responses:**

**ImSoMMAD:** Well, you know I can't tell you whose the baby was and why they'd want him dead yet, but you'll find out soon.

**Kaitylen:** Yes, it was Harry.

Thanks also to **Onyx Tigress86, Mystiksnake, mandi, Obsidian-Dragon-Phoenix** and **rosiegirl** for reviewing!


	3. Broken Glass

**Chapter Two: Broken Glass  
**  
How long he was unconscious for, Severus didn't know. All he knew was that he was alone again now he was awake.

A plan had been forming in his exhausted mind for a while. He didn't want to have to do this. But he had no choice, if he was going to escape this prison, either by dying or physically escaping. There was little hope for the latter, but it was Severus' preference. If he had been replaced by an impostor, the war would be as good as lost.

Occlumency helped. Now he could focus. Severus gingerly reached out to his magic, feeling it until he found where ordinary magic ended. Now he was left with what until now he'd never before achieved – or wanted to, for that matter.

The sheer power warmed him with a touch. Severus let it strengthen him before reaching out to a tendril of magic, willing it to perform to his command.

There was a crack that would have made anyone else jump, but Severus was too drained. He had just the energy to move his head sideways a little and observe his first step. One of the potions vials had cracked, but not enough to leak. He closed his eyes and let sleep take him again, satisfied.

* * *

Over the next few days, Harry thought about the visit Dumbledore had made and reflected on the fact that just that short time had helped calm him slightly over his fears. Even though the subject of Harry's changing appearance had not been breached, Harry had taken the attitude that if it was something to worry about, he would find out in due course and worry about it then. Fawkes' presence definitely helped; every time the phoenix sensed Harry's unhappiness, he would try to heal him, which although fruitless at least reminded Harry that he was cared for.

On the other hand, Vernon Dursley was in a particularly bitter mood that summer. Petunia had the household walking on tiptoe around him. Apparently he had huge problems at work and the whole family had to be understanding of his temper.

Harry, not at all eager to be on the receiving end of his uncle's mood, did his best not to antagonise him by getting on with every chore his aunt gave him as quickly and quietly as possible. Unfortunately, Vernon looked for things to get angry about, and Harry felt his uncle's eyes on him constantly, waiting for him to do something wrong.

Eventually, three days into the holiday, Harry accidentally cut his thumb on a sharp knife in the washing-up and, as he winced, a large glass dinner plate slipped from his hands. Harry tried desperately to catch it before it hit the floor, but failed. The plate smashed into pieces, and all Harry could do was brace himself for the explosion from his uncle.

* * *

Albus had sent a packet of chocolate drops and was planning to pay Harry another visit soon. The question was when. Most of the time he had his hands full with Order work, only occasionally finding a moment to relax, or spend with Minerva. Usually both.

It was on one of these such occasions that Fawkes interrupted. The two of them had been enjoying a game of chess when the phoenix had appeared and upended the board, sending indignant pieces flying everywhere.

"Fawkes!" Albus scolded. "What is it?" A split second later he recognised the urgent way Fawkes was pecking at his robes. "Is something wrong? – Harry?"

He Apparated to Privet Drive, straight into the hallway. He barely had time to register the horrific scene before him, when he was blown completely off his feet.

* * *

Worthless.

Pathetic.

Waste of space.

All the words whirled in Harry's head. The number of times he had been called them, in more vulnerable moments he believed them. Now Vernon was repeating them, and any variation he could think of. Harry tried to block them out, tried to ignore them, but they still hurt more than the blows did.

His uncle was stronger than him, and although Harry struggled he still received the full wrath of Vernon Dursley. It felt as though he had been waiting for this for weeks. But then Vernon made a huge mistake.

"Where's that precious godfather of yours now, eh?" he sneered, almost reminiscent of Snape.

Harry snapped.

He felt something literally give inside him, and a rush he had never felt before. A split second later, there was a deafening crash – louder than Harry had ever heard. Vernon was literally blown over.

His ears still ringing, Harry surveyed the damage. The room looked as if a bomb had gone off in it, and all the windows were broken. As his ears adjusted, he became vaguely aware of a chorus of car alarms outside the house.

"Harry?"

He turned his head, and instantly regretted it as pain shot everywhere. Dumbledore was getting to his feet in the doorway, brushing off the debris.

"Professor," Harry gasped. "I don't -"

"Don't worry, it's all right," Dumbledore said, drawing nearer. "Where does it hurt?"

"Um, kind of everywhere – ouch." Harry felt queasy in addition to the list. Did Dumbledore see ..?

"Can you stand?"

"No." Harry winced. "Can't sit either."

"Right. I can't Apparate with you so I'm going to have to bring Poppy here. Let's get you comfortable." Harry bit his lip against the pain as Dumbledore gently moved him onto the remains of the sofa.

"Is my uncle – is he okay?"

A groan from the floor answered the question. Dumbledore pointed his want at Vernon and seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment before choosing to Stun him.

"I've rarely wanted to use an Unforgiveable before," he said in a quiet voice, staring at the Stunned man. "But two wrongs don't make a right. Rest assured, Harry, I will make sure he goes to Azkaban."

The relief that washed over Harry took over the queasiness and for a moment he couldn't even feel the pain of several broken ribs, a fractured elbow and Merlin knew what else.

"Try not to go to sleep," Dumbledore warned him. "You might have concussion."

"Okay. Professor, what happened? Did I blow up the living-room?"

Dumbledore stepped across to the window. "I think you did a little more than that." He turned to look back at his charge. "Don't worry about it, Harry."

He disappeared and returned merely minutes later with Madam Pomfrey. She adopted her usual brisk manner, as if she saw this kind of thing all the time. Harry was sincerely grateful.

"This is going to hurt," she warned Harry. "Bones don't mend painlessly."

Harry reached out to grasp the arms of the sofa, but a hand found his way into one instead and he clutched it as a sharp, sudden pain shot through his chest. Meeting Dumbledore's eye, he sent a silent signal of thanks.

After mending Harry's bones, Madam Pomfrey checked for concussion and gave him the all clear to sleep if he wanted. It wasn't until then Harry found he was exhausted – as if he had run a marathon.

"Your bones will ache for a while, I can get you a painkiller potion if you want -" she began, but Harry shook his head.

"M'fine, thanks."

As he drifted off on the sofa, he heard a murmured conversation.

"That's so touching."

"What?" Dumbledore asked.

"The way you look at him," Madam Pomfrey replied. "Like Severus."

"I think of them both as my own," said Dumbledore. "My boys." Harry felt something strange on his forehead, and realised a second later that someone had kissed him lightly over his scar. Someone with a beard, who thought he was asleep.

A few moments later, he was.

* * *

When Harry woke, he was in darkness. Blinking a few times, he could just about make out a few shadows, and gasped as the soreness came back all at once. He bit his lip and tried sitting up.

After a few moments, he could see he was back at Grimmauld Place. Harry sighed and collapsed back on the pillows. Why did Dumbledore have to take him to the last place he wanted to be right now?

Dumbledore. Harry frowned. Where had he gone?

Almost as soon as the thought had entered his head, he heard a trilling beside him and turned to see Fawkes. When the phoenix saw that his temporary master was awake, he disappeared before Harry could react to his being there. Harry, feeling rather rejected, closed his eyes and turned over, trying to go back to sleep. He had almost succeeded when he heard somebody enter the room. "Harry?"

He opened his eyes. Dumbledore was there, and smiled when he saw he was awake. "Welcome back, Mr. Potter. You've kept us quite busy, you know."

"I have?"

Dumbledore sat down on the edge of the bed and Harry sat up again. "How are you feeling?"

"Bit sore. Bit tired. Otherwise okay. Why've I kept everyone busy?"

"That little display of yours didn't go unnoticed," was Dumbledore's only reply. "Are you hungry?"

"Famished."

"I'm not surprised," Dumbledore chuckled. "You've been asleep nearly a whole week. That was a pretty impressive display of magic you performed – it must have taken a lot out of you."

"Wait – what?"

The smile vanished from Dumbledore's face and he grew serious. "Harry, you didn't just blow up your living-room."

Harry gulped. "I didn't? How bad _was_ it?"

"The Ministry are in the process of persuading the Muggles that it was an earthquake."

Harry's mouth dropped open.

"Not a task I would envy, but with memory charms I'm sure they will manage to convince at least the Muggles in power. Meanwhile the Order has set up a decoy to draw the Ministry's attention from you personally,."

"What kind of decoy?"

"An 'accident' with the wards on Privet Drive. They will be able to trace the magic to there, but they can't tell it was you and not us, so hopefully there won't be repercussions."

"Um, right." Harry decided it was probably best if he didn't try to understand it. "Am I in trouble?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "It was an accident, Harry; everyone here understands that. Although, it has raised some interesting questions which ought to be kept between us for now."

Harry dropped his eyes, knowing what was coming. Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder. "Harry, I'm not going to ask about your uncle. I saw enough to see him to Azkaban. You won't have to see him again."

"What about my aunt?"

"Unless you have any objections, I thought we could send her compensation to at least get her house repaired, if not buy a new one." Harry shook his head. "And you won't have to go back there – your little accident blew the wards to smithereens."

"Oh." Harry paused. "What were the 'interesting questions' you mentioned, then?"

"Harry, have you heard of a magic bind?"

Slowly he shook his head. "What is it?"

"If a child displays particularly, shall we say, potent magical abilities at an unusually young age, the parents can choose to put a bind on their magic. It simply means that they can only access a reduced amount of their power until they are ready to handle it. The binds can be gradually removed so they can get used to the increase in magic. It's actually very dangerous to leave them on through adolescence, because that's the time when youngsters discover most about their magic and, with the high emotional ups and downs of young adulthood, anything can happen. Unfortunately, it seems that you had a bind on your magic that nobody knew about, and last week it broke – causing a lot of damage in the process, I might add."

"Whoa." Harry thought for a moment. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Harry, it's not your fault. I'm just thankful no-one was seriously hurt."

"What do you mean, no-one was _seriously_ hurt?" Harry said, frowning.

"Anyway," Dumbledore continued, pretending Harry hadn't spoken, "what worries me now is you. As I said, magic binds are supposed to be removed gradually so the witch or wizard in question can handle their magic. You've lost yours in one go, which means until you get a handle on it you've got to be careful of accidental magic."

"I can do that."

Dumbledore surveyed Harry over his half-moon spectacles. "That means keeping your temper in check, Harry. Accidental magic is performed most when the person is angry. Can you prevent that?"

"I'll … do my best."

Dumbledore nodded and changed the subject. "I brought your things over from Privet Drive. I hope I didn't miss anything; maybe you should check."

Harry slid out of bed. His trunk was in the middle of the floor, his clothes piled neatly on top. Opening the trunk, he saw Dumbledore had piled in everything he had found inside.

"I will leave you to it," Dumbledore said, heading towards the door. "What do you want for breakfast? – Harry?"

"Professor, did you see a blanket?" Harry felt like a baby asking for it, but it was preferable to losing it. "I think it must have been by my bed."

"No, I didn't. Do you want me to fetch it for you after breakfast?"

"Before, please." Harry didn't want to run the risk of Petunia finding it first.

"All right. Go and help yourself to something while you wait, I thought you said you were famished."

"I am."

Dumbledore left for Privet Drive and Harry headed downstairs. The only occupants of the kitchen were Tonks at the sink, and Snape at the table, buried in the _Daily Prophet_.

"Morning, Harry," Tonks greeted him enthusiastically. "Goodness, you've slept well. Lucky thing. Want something to eat?"

"Yes, please." Harry sat down as far away from Snape as he could manage. Snape merely rustled the newspaper and pointedly ignored his presence.

"Well, I'm no Molly Weasley, but I'm sure we can rustle up something." Tonks started hunting in the cupboards.

"Do you want a hand?" Harry asked.

"No thanks, Harry, I'm fine. Whoops!" One of the doorknobs had come off in her hand. "Huh. _Reparo_. That's better." She turned round to look at Harry. "Fancy porridge?"

"Sounds good."

Harry waited with baited breath for Tonks to break something else while she made the porridge, but no sounds of breaking glass or china came. She seemed to be trying particularly hard to get everything right, and when she placed the bowl of steaming porridge in front of Harry, he caught her peek sideways at Snape.

"Thanks, Tonks." Harry picked up a spoon.

"Severus, do you want something?" she asked Snape, a bite of nervousness in her voice.

At first Harry thought he wouldn't respond. Finally he said, "I've eaten already."

"Oh." Tonks looked deflated. "Are you sure? It smells really good."

"I would rather have my breakfast in my mouth, Nymphadora, than spilt all over the floor," Snape said cuttingly without even looking up from his paper.

Tonks flinched. Harry frowned. He had never seen her look so hurt before.

"That was uncalled for," he said.

Snape ignored him. Harry stood up. "Snape!"

"That's _Professor_ Snape to you, Potter." Snape threw down his paper, glaring at him.

"Not during the holidays." Harry glared at him. "You need to apologise to Tonks."

"Harry," Tonks tried, "please don't -"

"How dare you talk to me like that," Snape growled.

"How dare _you_ talk to Tonks like that, you mean," Harry spat. He had been stewing over Snape's actions in the last year for weeks and this was the last straw.

Snape looked so mad he would explode, but the inevitable rage at Harry was interrupted by someone calling his name. Harry turned, and saw Dumbledore in the kitchen doorway.

"Harry," he said again. It sounded almost as if he was about to faint. "Harry."

His face was chalk white, and he held Harry's baby blanket in his hand.

**TBC …**


	4. Questions and Answers

**Chapter Three: Questions and Answers  
**  
Harry followed Dumbledore into the living room in silence, wondering what was the matter with the man. Dumbledore seemed erratic; his hands were shaking and he looked in shock.

"Professor, what's wrong?" Harry said once he'd shut the door behind him. Dumbledore had sat down and was now staring at him as if he could not believe his eyes.

"You … you look different," Dumbledore finally answered, his voice hoarse. "I didn't – didn't notice before …"

"I know," Harry answered. "I was going to talk to you about it this summer. What's the matter? Do you know why -"

"Harry, where did you get this?" Dumbledore interrupted, holding out the baby blanket with a trembling hand.

"I – don't know. I've always had it; I guess my mum must have made it."

Dumbledore shook his head, and opened and shut his mouth a few more times before getting out, "I made it."

"You – what?"

"Harry – this was my son's."

There was a long silence.

"Are – are you sure?" Harry asked, trying to be gentle. Dumbledore had said himself that sometimes he thought of both of them as the same.

Dumbledore nodded vigorously. "Yes. This corner here -" he showed Harry "- is stained – chocolate milk. I remember; it was the first and last time he had it."

Harry took in the very subtle brown stain, which come to think of it had always smelt a bit sweeter than the rest of the blanket, but couldn't take in the implications. "Professor – what are you saying?"

"Either -" Dumbledore swallowed visibly, "Your parents got it from my boy, or … or you – _are _– him."

Harry stared at Dumbledore. It couldn't be possible. All right, it was a strange and scary coincidence, but no more than that – right? After all, Dumbledore's son was dead.

"Professor." Harry sat down and looked Dumbledore straight in the eye. He had never seen his Headmaster look so vulnerable. "Your little boy is dead. You told me, remember?"

Dumbledore closed his eyes, and a tear slipped down his face into his beard. "I never saw his body," he whispered. "I wasn't there. They never – n-never told me where they b-buried him."

They?

"Professor, please, don't get your hopes up," Harry said. "It can't be me. We need to prove it either way. Can you think of a way?"

Dumbledore closed his eyes and stared at the ground, thinking hard. "Harrison had a birthmark," he said suddenly. "On his lower back. A crescent shape."

Harry's stomach leapt.

He had the birthmark. He had never noticed it as a child, but there had been a time back in first year, when Harry had fallen asleep without a pyjama top on. Ron and the other boys had doodled on his back, and then photographed it. Dean had turned the crescent birthmark into a picture of a Cheshire cat. The cat image had become as iconic in Gryffindor House as the scar on his forehead.

Very slowly, Harry stood, rolled up his shirt and turned around.

* * *

"Hi, Minerva." Tonks smiled, but it was a weak attempt. "What are you doing here?"

Minerva frowned. "Never mind that, what's the matter with you?" Tonks didn't answer, just looked down at the floor. Minerva sighed, comprehension dawning. "Severus."

She was rewarded with a small nod.

"Sit down, Nymphadora, let me get you some tea."

"I just don't know what's going through his head these days," Tonks said as Minerva busied herself with the kettle. "Before You-Know-Who came back we were so happy, and I knew him so well – I could read him like a book."

"He's probably just thinking of you," Minerva said soothingly. "With his position, your relationship would be so dangerous -"

"I know, that's what I thought when he just got more and more distant and then broke it off. But some of the things he says – it's as if he's deliberately trying to hurt me. It can't all be just for show."

"Well, like you said, you know Severus. In his role he also has to favour certain students, but the number of times Albus has talked to him about over-doing it … I've lost count." Minerva poured out the tea. "He over-plays the part. I'm sure it's killing him too inside, Dora."

Tonks smiled at the nickname that usually only her family used. "Thanks. It's not that I _want_ him to be hurting, I just want to believe that when this is all over we can go back to being the way we were."

"I know." Minerva smiled in empathy. "Believe me, I understand how you feel."

"Has he been as cold to you and Albus?" Tonks asked. "I mean, you two are like family to him. Well, there's no 'like' about it really."

Minerva slowly nodded, sighing. "I'm afraid he has. It's understandable; Severus is good at shutting himself away when he's confronted with his past. And in this case, it's an everyday confrontation."

Tonks stirred her tea gloomily for a moment, and then decided to change the subject. "So, what _are_ you doing here?"

"I was looking for Albus; I haven't seen him since he found out Harry woke."

Tonks jabbed a thumb at the door. "They're in the living room. Been there a pretty long time, but when I knocked Harry told me not to disturb them."

* * *

"I've got so many questions," Harry murmured. The room had been very quiet for a while. He and Dumbledore were both sitting on the sofa, Dumbledore with his arm around Harry, who was leaning into him. Both were still trying to get over the shock. "I don't know what to ask first."

"Why don't you start with the small things?" Dumbledore suggested. Harry considered. That was probably a good idea. He didn't think either of them were ready to explore the full picture yet.

"Um …" Harry considered. "What was my first word?"

Dumbledore smiled nostalgically. "It was 'Daddy'. That's what you called me. Well, just 'Da' at first."

Harry felt a lump in his throat. While he was still alive, Sirius had mentioned once that Harry had called James 'Papa'. To Harry, it had never sounded right.

"I think I'll call you 'Daddy'," Harry said in a teasing voice, but really he was serious – it was probably hard enough for Dumbledore to accept the missed years as it was, without a jump such as the one from 'Daddy' to 'Dad' (via 'Professor Dumbledore').

"I'd like that," Dumbledore replied in a soft voice, as if he knew what Harry was thinking.

"What was I like as a baby?" Harry asked.

"Lively," was Dumbledore's immediate response. "Very. Eager and bright – I had barely got you home from the hospital before you started crawling. Curious little tyke you were too, and impatient. Born two months early and all."

Harry chuckled, but a thought occurred to him. "July 31st isn't my birthday, is it?"

"No. The end of July was when you were due; you were actually born in May."

Harry frowned. "Was it – the twentieth?"

Dumbledore blinked in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"I don't know. The day just always felt significant for some reason. The last one was when I started -" He stopped.

"Changing?" Dumbledore suggested.

Harry nodded.

"Glamour charms," Dumbledore said. "They usually start to expire on a birthday, regardless of when they were cast."

That was one mystery cleared up. Silence fell again. It was only broken by a soft knock on the living room door.

"Come in," Dumbledore said.

Professor McGonagall poked her head around the door. "Ah, there you are, Albus. Hello, Harry."

Harry smiled, noticing the use of first name and grateful for it. "Hi, Professor."

She nodded at him. "Albus, can I have a word? It's about Severus."

"Is it urgent?" Dumbledore asked.

"Well, not life or death, but it's important."

He sighed and nodded. "All right. I'll be back in a moment, Harry." Dumbledore squeezed Harry's hand and placed a kiss on his forehead before leaving the room. Professor McGonagall smiled at Harry again and left.

Harry stifled a yawn. Part of him just wanted to go back to bed and sleep on it, but another part longed to fill in the blanks. He still couldn't believe it was true. He had always been Harry Potter, famous or not – but he wasn't Harry Potter. He was Harrison Dumbledore.

Exactly what that meant, he wasn't sure yet.

The living room door opened and Professor McGonagall re-entered. "Albus just told me," she said in a faint voice, sitting down opposite him. "I can't believe it."

"Neither can I," Harry said. "Where is he?"

"He's having a word with Professor Snape." Professor McGonagall didn't seem able to tear her eyes away from Harry's face. "Sweet Merlin, you look like your father."

Harry turned his head back towards the mirror over the fireplace. The changes in him were definitely more noticeable, but the resemblance between himself and Dumbledore was still fairly subtle – except the eyes. There was no mistaking the blue Dumbledore glint, even among the lingering greenness.

"What am I going to do about the glamour thing?" Harry asked. "At some point people are going to notice. I'll be barely recognisable after the holiday."

"I think a notice-me-not spell should sort that out," Professor McGonagall said. "It doesn't change your appearance back, but it prevents the eye from consciously registering the differences. The only ones who would see through it are the ones that know the spell is there."

"Oh, good." Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Can that be permanent?"

"As far as I know," Professor McGonagall replied. "You will have to ask Albus later."

Harry nodded. "Right."

Professor McGonagall smiled. "Would you like to see what you looked like before the glamours?"

His head shot up, and she chuckled. "Albus kept a baby book for you, I can fetch it from Hogwarts if you would like."

"Yes, please."

* * *

Albus sighed as Severus stormed out of the room. That had not gone well. He had been wondering for a while if he and Minerva over-parented Severus. He was a grown man, after all, and Albus found it hard to remember that sometimes.

But he knew, deep down, Severus appreciated their attention, having never had parents of his own. His mother had died in childbirth, and his father … well … that would always be a sore subject. Right from his childhood, Minerva and Albus had adopted the roles of his parents, but the relationship was not without its ups and downs.

Since Voldemort had returned, all relationships with Severus seemed to be in a long-term pit. It was as if he was the seventeen-year-old new Death Eater again, angry at them, angry at the world, and angry at himself. Perhaps this time around, the best thing to do was to leave him be.

Albus took a few deep breaths and his mind turned back to Harry. Harry, his baby, who had been under his nose all along. How could he never have seen it, never even have wondered? Why did he have to fail so miserably at being a father?

Still, the self-criticism could wait. Now, he was going to focus on positive. _His son was alive._ No thoughts of how he had messed up. No thoughts of how the Ministry had ruined his life the day they had taken Harry, and the long painful years that had followed. No thoughts of the life Harry had endured in the meantime. And no thoughts of the long conversation they would inevitably have to have on the who, what, how and why of it. No, now he was just going to be happy.

After an apology to Tonks, he returned to the living-room, and was pleasantly surprised to find Minerva and Harry curled up on the sofa together, the baby book between them. Minerva saw him first, and gestured at him to sit down.

"We've just started looking at it," she said. "I fetched it from the old nursery. Do you remember this one?"

Albus couldn't help but grin as he took in the photograph. This one, taken at three and a half months, featured a Harry covered from head to foot in raspberry jam.

"I still have no idea how that happened," he told the laughing teen. "My back was turned for only five seconds."

"And this one," Minerva said, turning to one a little later. This Harry was coated in cheese sauce. Albus shook his head in amusement.

"I blame Fawkes for that one."

Harry turned back now, pausing at a written page. "Hey, I've found all my first words." He grinned. "What's 'Slivn bet'?"

"Ah, that was Severus. He was trying to teach you to say 'Slytherins are best'."

"Good thing I couldn't remember him saying that at my Sorting," Harry murmured. "I could have ended up Malfoy's best buddy."

"I doubt that," Minerva said. "There's too much Gryffindor in you. I should probably get back to the school." She ruffled Harry's hair and kissed Albus on the cheek. "I'll see you later."

Before she could leave, Albus snaked an arm around her waist and kissed her properly. "You're not allowed to leave without saying goodbye," he teased. "Will you be at the meeting?"

Minerva smiled and nodded. "Yes I will. Bye, Albus."

When she had left, Albus turned back to Harry, and saw he was watching him with a wry smile and a raised eyebrow. "Yes, Harry?"

Harry smirked. "Anything you'd like to tell me about you and my Head of House, Daddy?"

The warm glow he felt at being addressed that way distracted Albus from the question for a moment. "We live together," he said finally. "Which is information you are only privy to as you are family."

"Okay." Harry turned back to the book.

"You don't seem very surprised," Albus commented, sitting back down in Minerva's place.

"The whole school knows there's something between you two, they just don't know what. Don't worry, I'm not going to tell Rita Skeeter or anything."

Albus chuckled. "Good."

Harry turned back again, this time to the first page. On it was written his full name, date and place of birth, and other basic details – such as parents' names. Albus only realised what Harry was staring at as his son spoke.

"Why have I only got you listed in the book as my parent?" Harry asked. Albus swallowed. He should have known this would be one of the first questions Harry would ask. "What about my mum?" A thought seemed to strike Harry suddenly. "Professor McGonagall – she's not -?"

Albus shook his head quickly. "No, Harry, Minerva's not your mother. Not biologically, anyway," he added gently. "But we were together long before you were born, and she loves you as much as I do."

Harry stared at Albus for a moment, frowning. "Well then, if you two were together then, where does my mum fit in? 'Cause I can't imagine you being the kind of person to cheat."

"You're right, I'm not. And I never have." Albus paused. This was very difficult. "You weren't exactly born in the normal way."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Harry." Albus took hold of one of Harry's hands. "One thing you need to learn about life is that there are many things that are possible in the wizarding world, which are not in the Muggle world."

"Well, I know I can't _just_ be your son," Harry said. "I've got to get my black hair from somewhere, haven't I?"

Albus smiled weakly. "Yes, I know. I'm not denying that you had – have – another biological parent. But," he added as Harry tried to speak, "as far as I am concerned, he is -"

"He?" Harry looked stunned, and Albus swallowed. He wished he had had time to plan out what he was going to say.

"Yes, he." There was an awkward pause. "As I was saying, as far as I am concerned, he is not your parent. Not in the same way I am."

"You mean, you were the one who – you know – had me? Or you mean he doesn't give a damn about me?" Harry asked. Albus sighed. Trust Harry to interpret it like that.

"Both. To be honest, Harry, he doesn't know you exist." This was only partially true – after all, Harrison Dumbledore was still technically dead to the world. "But if he did know, yes, he would not care." At least, not in a good way.

"I'm confused," Harry admitted.

"I know. I'm sorry. I haven't really had time to think through everything I need to tell you." Albus rubbed the bridge of his nose. "The one thing you do need to know, Harry, is that you do have a family. Minerva and I, we can't have children of our own; you were a gift to us."

"So, this – walking source of half my DNA," Harry said. "What was he, like a donor?"

"Well – sort of," Albus said. "It's very complicated, and I think it's best left for another day."

Harry nodded. "'Kay." He sighed. "I'm tired anyway."

Albus looked at the clock, and was surprised to find that it was barely lunchtime. "You're probably still exhausted from your magic outburst last week. Go back to bed, I'll bring you something up to eat."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, getting to his feet. "Daddy?"

"Yes?" Albus replied, the warm glow filling him again.

"When you spoke to Professor Snape earlier, was that about what he said to Tonks this morning? Only she was almost in tears."

Albus nodded. "Yes, I heard. Don't worry about it, Harry."

**TBC …**


	5. White-Washed Insights

**AN:** Wow, I know it's been a LONG time. I am so sorry. I also know you all have questions, and many have theories, but I haven't dared answer reviews for fear of giving away too much. I promise the next chapter won't take anywhere near as long in the coming!

* * *

**Chapter Four: White-Washed Insights  
**  
"Harry? Are you all right? You're very quiet."

"What?" Harry jerked back to the present. Mrs Weasley was watching him closely. Harry swallowed. Albus had cast the notice-me-not spell just before she had arrived at Grimmauld Place, but Harry was still feeling uncomfortable under close scrutiny. "Oh, yeah. Sorry. What can I do to help?"

She smiled. "There's no need, just relax. You should really still be in bed after the magic incident."

The house was still virtually empty; so far, Molly was the only Weasley to have appeared. The others were coming that afternoon. Harry pushed her comment aside, but spotted an opportunity. "Mrs Weasley -"

"Molly, dear."

"You'll be honest with me, right?"

"Of course!" she answered offhand, and then frowned. "Hold on. Are you trying to talk me into revealing Order information to you, Harry?"

"No, nothing like that," he said quickly. "But I keep hearing about the 'magic incident' and no-one will tell me exactly what I _did_. I know I made a mess of the Dursleys' house but no more than that."

"Oh, Harry, dear." Mrs Weasley set aside the tea towel and sat down at the table next to him. "You're sure you want to know?"

"If it's that big, won't I find out anyway?"

"You have a good point. All right then." She sighed. "Harry, your magic outburst did more than affect your area. As I think Albus told you already, the Ministry have told the Muggles it was an earthquake. Nearly the whole country felt it."

Harry gulped. "The whole _country?_"

"Yes. It was chaos. A few buildings came down, a small tidal wave on the south coast and there's yet to find a window within about three hundred miles that hasn't been shattered." There was a long pause. "You _did_ want the honest truth, Harry."

"_I_ did all that?" Harry whispered in horror. "Oh Merlin – how many people were -"

"Nobody died," Mrs Weasley assured him. "We got lucky."

"But surely people must have been hurt -"

Mrs Weasley nodded. "Yes, there were quite a few, but thankfully none of them too serious. The tremor was felt before the glass smashed, and most people had ducked out of harm's way by that time."

Harry buried his head in his hands. "This is crazy. I could have killed people."

"You didn't. And this wasn't your fault, Harry." Mrs Weasley squeezed his hand tightly. "The Ministry's trying to arrange some kind of country-wide Reparo Squad. How they'll achieve that without Obliviating everybody's memories I don't know, but …"

"I know you're trying to make me feel better," Harry mumbled. "But it's not really helping. Thanks for trying though."

"If it's any consolation," a familiar voice spoke from the doorway, "I've done worse myself."

Harry turned and saw his smiling father in the doorway. "Oh, Da – Professor. You made me jump." Albus' eyes twinkled. "What have you done then?"

"My parents were against putting a magical bind on me," Albus said, entering the room and sitting down with them. "By the time I was nine I had blown up the family home twice, sent my brother to the moon, and sunk the Isle of Wight. It wasn't until then they thought perhaps it would be a good idea after all."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "You did all that?"

"Sadly, yes. But with any luck, we can avoid anything like that happening with you."

"How?" Harry asked.

It was at this point that Albus seemed to remember that Mrs Weasley was in the room. "Ah, why don't we leave that subject for later?"

* * *

"Well, here we are."

Harry blinked, looking around the room. It was clearly a living room, decorated fittingly in Gryffindor colours with brightly-coloured tapestries on the wall. Through the window he glimpsed the lake, and there was a cosy fire lit in the grate. "Nice."

Minerva smiled. "I thought you would like it."

Harry drew closer to the fireplace, looking at the photographs on the mantle. One was of a somewhat younger Albus and Minerva together, probably on holiday as it looked like a beach in the background, arms around each other and beaming at the camera. One was of baby Harry, maybe a couple of months old, a copy of one of the photographs from the baby book. Then, two more photos that caught Harry's attention: a dark-haired young boy of around nine, whom Harry wouldn't have been able to identify if it weren't for the last photo.

Severus Snape was barely recognisable in the last: not for his age, which was about twenty or so, but for his expression, which was a smile. Harry had _never_ seen Snape smile before, and what startled him further was that the smile was directed at the photograph's other occupant—a baby boy on his lap, tugging on his robe.

"So, I'm guessing Snape was more willing to spend time with me then than he is now," Harry remarked.

"How things change," Minerva sighed. "He was your primary babysitter."

"Snape babysits? Seriously?"

"Only for us. He wouldn't have for anyone else. And I feel obliged to say, it's either _Professor_ Snape, or Severus."

"And we got on? Things really do change."

"He adored you," Minerva said, laughing at Harry's expression. "He wouldn't so say himself, but he was always thinking of reasons for us to go out so he could watch you."

"I didn't know you were close."

Minerva nodded. "Yes, we are. Well, most of the time." She sighed. "Albus and I have known Severus his entire life—I suppose you could say, we're the parents he never had."

Harry nodded, understanding immediately.

"Believe me, we have a better relationship when You-Know-Who's not waiting in the wings. Actually, _anyone_ has a better relationship with Severus when You-Know-Who's not around. Poor Dora," Minerva murmured.

Harry wasn't certain she had meant for him to hear the last remark, but had to ask anyway. "Who's Dora?"

"Nymphadora Tonks," Minerva clarified. "Until Riddle's return, they—well—were very close. In fact, they were engaged."

Harry's eyebrows raised through the roof. "They were _engaged?_"

"Severus broke it off a few months back. Poor Dora's been distraught ever since. I'm telling you this in confidence, Harry," Minerva said suddenly. "This is private, just for family knowledge."

He nodded quickly. "I won't breathe a word." He thought of Tonks' tiptoeing round Snape the day before, and felt a further rush of sympathy for her. "Poor Tonks." He was hit by a sudden urge to give Snape a black eye; it was probably fortunate for the Potions Master that he was not in the room.

Harry eyed the photo of himself and his babysitter again. Somehow, he couldn't square it with the man who'd nearly had Tonks in tears.

"How did you know him to begin with?"

Minerva hesitated. "We met his mother just before Severus was born. The poor woman died in childbirth, and we tried to adopt him, but—we ran into legal troubles." Harry, sure something was missing from this story, just nodded. "Albus and I battled the Ministry for years over custody, but they never granted it. The most we were allowed was to see him once a week for two hours." Minerva clenched her hands, and Harry thought she looked as if she was fantasising about punching somebody. "Once he started at Hogwarts, his guardianship transferred to his Head of House, who was only too happy to let us take care of him outside the classroom environment; but by that time he was a very hurt eleven year old with a cynical view of the world." Minerva sighed again. "When things are rough, he blocks people out. It's just what he does, I'm afraid. I know he can be cruel, bitter and generally dislikeable—I'm not disagreeing with you on that. But underneath it all, he's a good man, and he genuinely cares about other people even when he refuses to show it."

"Having a rough life doesn't excuse—"

"His behaviour, I know. I'm not saying it does. You asked a question, I answered it."

Harry looked closer at the babysitting photograph. Deep in the young Snape's eyes, he could see shadows of a hurt man. He could empathise with Minerva's story, but he was sure there was something else in there, some other scar that he couldn't name.

A shiver inexplicably ran down Harry's spine and he stepped away from the photograph.

"Can I ask a question?"

"Fire away."

"Was there any particular reason the Ministry wouldn't grant you custody? I think you two would've made great parents."

Minerva blinked, and Harry realised with a start that she had tears in her eyes. She tried to speak a couple of times, each time choking on the first word. After a few deep breaths, the tears disappeared and she smiled warmly.

"Thank you, Harry," she whispered. "That means a lot." After a moment, she continued in a more normal tone, "In answer to your question …" She looked hard at him, as if debating how to answer. "Albus and I aren't married."

"Oh."

"It's not that—that we don't want—" Minerva hesitated. "The fact is, I'm unfortunately already married to someone else."

Harry's eyebrows raised. "Oh!" There was a pause. "Can't you …"

"Believe me, I have been trying to divorce him for nearly fifty years. Albus and I … we have to make do."

* * *

"Harry, you in here?"

After sneezing on the dust in response, Harry croaked out, "Yes."

The nursery door was cautiously opened and Albus hovered in the doorway, seemingly even now reluctant to enter. Harry took one last look at the room and exited.

"Well?" Albus asked. "How does it feel to be home?"

"Weird," Harry answered immediately. He thought for a moment. "Sad and happy and painful and wonderful all at once."

Albus nodded. "I know the feeling," he said softly, so quietly Harry barely heard him, as they sat down together in the living-room.

"Where've you been?"

"Trying to find Severus. He still doesn't know about you yet. But apparently he's been called away, so it'll have to wait." A slightly mischievous glint appeared in Albus' eyes. "I for one cannot wait to see his reaction."

"What, when he discovers I'm your son?"

"When he discovers," Albus corrected, "that Harry Potter is his baby brother."

"Whoa! Hang on!" Harry sat up straighter. "Who said anything about a _brother_?"

"Hasn't Minerva told you Severus is practically our son?"

"Well … yeah." Harry paused. "Hadn't really made that connection though. _Brother_ …" He mouthed the word a few times. "He'll love that."

"Sarcasm aside, Harry, I think he will. After he's got over the shock, at any rate. Severus was as broken as we were when you …" Albus trailed off.

"Didn't die," Harry helpfully supplied.

"Quite. He'll be overjoyed to find out you're alive after all."

Harry thought this optimism was going a bit far, but decided not to say so.

"Anyway …" Albus paused. "Are you staying? It's Minerva's turn to cook and I believe she's making her speciality tonight."

Harry bit his lip. "I'd love to stay," he said hesitantly, "but I don't think I can. Not yet. I just … being here, it's emotionally exhausting. I think I need to get back to Grimmauld Place and take it all in."

"All right. Say goodbye to Minerva and I'll take you back."

* * *

When Harry returned to Grimmauld place, he found Ron and Hermione waiting for him.

"Hey mate, where'd you go? Mum said you'd gone off with McGonagall, but she didn't know where."

Harry opened his mouth, and hesitated. One thing he was certain of was that he was not ready to share this news—not until he had got it all straight in his head, and right now the facts and his emotions were just too muddled.

"I'll tell you later," he said, playing for time. "How's your summer been so far?"

Since the holiday had lasted less than a fortnight, there wasn't much to tell. When Ron and Hermione had both finished, Harry told them a heavily edited version of his.

Hermione was chewing her lip by the time he had finished. "That could have been a lot worse, then," she said. "For a magic bind to break—it sounds like you got off lucky. So … have you noticed a difference yet?"

"Difference?"

"Well, obviously, you're suddenly a lot more powerful. It's going to take some adjusting," Hermione said.

Harry thought. "Well … I haven't noticed yet, to tell the truth."

"Probably 'cause you haven't got angry," Ron said wisely. "That's when I heard it starts to notice. Few days ago Ginny blew up at Fred and George over some prank—"

"Ginny?"

"Yeah, she had a bind on too. Mum and Dad have been removing it gradually the last few years, they did the last bit when we came home this holiday. Let's just say they regretted the prank."

"What, just Ginny?" Hermione asked curiously. "Not the rest of you?"

"Yeah, just Ginny. She's always been the powerful one in our family. Anyway, we weren't talking 'bout my sister, we were talking 'bout Harry."

"Actually, I did get a bit angry with Snape," Harry said. "But we were interrupted. Probably a good thing, or I might've blown _him_ up."

"Good thing?" Ron said. "Nah, would've been a better thing if you had."

Harry stayed silent while Hermione chastised Ron for his comment. His thoughts were broken by the arrival of Fawkes, who settled on his shoulder and nibbled his earlobe. Harry grinned.

"Your herbs are on my bedroom window-sill," he told the phoenix. "You don't have to eat me."

Ron and Hermione both chuckled. "Harry, would he mind if I stroked him?" Hermione asked.

"Shouldn't think so. Go ahead."

Fawkes allowed them all to pet him awhile before taking flight again and disappearing as there was a knock on the door, and a pink-spiked head looked in. "Wotcher."

"Hi Tonks," Harry said. "Um, are you okay?"

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, nonplussed.

"I'm fine, thank you Harry," she said with a smile, though he could see from her eyes this was not entirely true.

"Well, if you ever want someone to kick his arse for you, I'm more than happy to oblige."

She chuckled. "The offer is appreciated but not necessary. Anyway, I came to tell you that Molly says dinner's ready."

"We're coming." After Tonks had withdrew her head, Ron turned to Harry. "What was that about?"

"When I got angry with Snape," Harry explained, "it was 'cause the slimy git upset her. C'mon, I'm famished."

The subject of Harry's disappearance to Hogwarts didn't surface again all evening, for which he was thankful. He didn't have much of an opportunity to work out what exactly he was going to tell his friends, caught up in the Weasley chaos as he was. He knew he was going to have to tell them _something_, sooner or later.

Only once he and most of the rest of the household were in bed, did he get a chance to really think, and then he realised with an almost guilty jolt that he had barely thought of Sirius since the revelation. Nothing like finding out you were adopted for a distraction, Harry thought wryly. The pain started to come flooding back and he buried his face in the pillow, determined not to cry, for the first time in his memory the words _I want Daddy_ crossing his mind.

There was a flurry of feathers next to him, and something wet dripped on his neck. Harry opened his eyes and turned his head to see Fawkes, perched on the edge of the bed with tears pouring from his eyes.

"Thanks, Fawkes," Harry whispered, stroking the phoenix gratefully. Fawkes began singing quietly enough to not disturb Ron, and Harry slipped quickly off to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, all the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place were surprised to be greeted by Albus sitting at the kitchen table.

"Morning," he said cheerfully to the bleary-eyed Weasleys, folding up the _Daily Prophet_ as he spoke.

"Morning, Albus," Molly said, heading for the stove. "Have you had breakfast?"

"I have, thank you Molly. I was wondering if I could borrow Harry for a while, when he's had his of course."

Feeling everyone's eyes on him, Harry was saved making any kind of response by Molly's agreeing, and bolted his breakfast as fast as he dared.

He and Albus stepped out the Floo into his office, and Albus began to lead him downstairs. "I know we haven't really discussed this yet," Albus said, "but I'm concerned about the sudden increase in your magical abilities. Accidental magic is not the only thing you have to guard against—you will probably find that spells will come out more powerful now than they did under the bind."

"Right," Harry said slowly. "So … where are we going?"

"The Great Hall. You need plenty of space to practise."

"Practise?" Harry said, frowning. "You mean—practise spells? In the holidays? Isn't that illegal?"

"Technically, it's only disallowed away from Hogwarts. I'm sure if the Ministry were alerted they would have a few things to say about it; but the fact remains is, you need to start as soon as possible. As it is, the castle is empty apart from Minerva, and the Ministry can't detect any magic you perform here, so your sessions should go unnoticed."

Once they were in the Great Hall, Harry saw the tables were all gone and the room was completely empty. Albus withdrew a short distance from him and pulled a quill from his robes.

"We should probably start simple. Try levitating."

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," Harry said, his mind on memories of using the spell on the troll and not really focused on performing it, and jumped as the quill zoomed upwards at a hundred miles an hour, colliding with the ceiling, and fell back to the ground in three pieces.

"You see what I'm worried about," Albus said.

**TBC …**


	6. Explosive Emotions

**Chapter Five: Explosive Emotions**

For nearly two hours Harry struggled to produce a spell that wasn't greatly magnified. While Albus was patient with him, Harry could tell his lack of progress was worrying him. Eventually Albus sighed and said they should perhaps call it a morning.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled. "I _am_ trying, Daddy."

"I know you are." In an instant Albus was by his side with an arm around his shoulders. "It's not your fault; it's just … I'm concerned what the start of term may bring."

"You mean me blowing up the castle the first time I'm asked to cast a Reducto?"

"Well, obviously that is a concern—I think we should stay away from any spells of _that_ nature for a while—but I also don't want to give the Ministry any reason to start asking questions. Your abilities are best kept secret, Harry."

"Right." A thought occurred to Harry. "What about accidental magic? You said something about learning to control myself."

"So I did. But I think you need to get the hang of casting normal spells first. Then Severus can teach you, when he comes back—"

"_What?_"

Albus chuckled. "No need to sound so alarmed. I'm sure once everything is out in the open, things will be a lot better between you two."

Harry bit his tongue. Unfailing optimism was obviously a Dumbledore gene that had passed him by. "Why him, though?"

Albus hesitated. "He does have more experience in certain areas which you will find beneficial."

The vague answer only confused Harry further, but before he could protest at the arrangement, Albus said, "Harry, I know you don't like him. And I know you two have a, er … a history. But he _is_ a good man—underneath everything—and, like him or not, he _is_ part of this family. Please."

Harry swallowed. "All right. Fine. I'll give him a chance. But if it's a repeat of the Occlumency lessons …"

Albus smiled weakly. "Then it will be on my head, and you are free to say 'I told you so, Daddy'."

"Deal." A thought occurred to Harry. "Where is he now? Back from where?"

"Severus is with Voldemort."

"Still?"

"Voldemort keeps him quite busy during the holidays; makes the most of him not having to keep to class schedules. Sometimes he can keep him away for days on end." Albus sighed. "Poor Severus, he doesn't get much of a break."

_No wonder he's always grumpy_, Harry thought, experiencing something incredibly rare: the tiniest drop of pity for the Potions Master.

* * *

Albus sent him back to Grimmauld Place just in time for lunch. He could feel his friends' eyes on him all through the meal, but Ron didn't accost him until afterwards, when the three of them were alone in the living-room.

"So come on mate, spill. Where do you keep disappearing to?"

"Hogwarts," Harry said, grinning at their surprise. It had occurred to him a short while ago that Albus had provided him with the perfect excuse, for whenever he wanted to spend time with his family. "Dumbledore's trying to get me to cast a spell without causing any damage in the process."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're right about the power increase—everything's coming out super-charged. He thinks I should learn to adapt my spell-casting _before_ the start of term, or I might end up hurting someone."

"You mean … you're doing magic in the holidays?" Hermione whispered. "But that's—"

"Authorised by the Headmaster, though to be on the safe side, best not let anyone know about it," Harry said with a grin. "The Ministry can't detect it while I'm at Hogwarts."

Ron looked as if he was going to ask something else, but they were interrupted by Ginny entering the room.

"Harry, have you heard the news?"

"News?" Harry said blankly, looking around at Ron and Hermione, who looked as blank as he felt. "What news?"

She unfolded a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. "I wasn't sure if you'd seen it yet." Harry's eyes fell on the front page, half of which was taken up by a photograph of Dolores Umbridge.

What happened next was so sudden Harry didn't have time to react.

At the sight of Umbridge, he felt a hot stab of anger and let out a low growl. At the exact same time, the grandfather clock exploded.

Ginny, who was right in front of the clock, shrieked and stumbled backwards onto the sofa. Harry ducked the flying cog pieces.

"GINNY!" Ron yelled. "Get off!" Flames were licking the tassels; she leapt off and ran to the other side of the room as the whole thing went up in flames.

_Whoosh!_

Harry looked from the now-soggy, charred furniture to Molly, who had appeared in the doorway and still had her wand out from the water charm. "What happened here?"

Harry gulped. "Guilty."

Molly gave him a funny look, one he couldn't quite identify. When he turned round, he saw Ron and Hermione staring at him in much the same way—only, he realised, he had seen the look before. And the recognition of when he had seen it before did little to soothe him.

Ginny mumbled an excuse and left the room in a hurry. Harry, keen to avoid his friends' eyes, picked up the newspaper she had left behind. The headline he now realised read _Enquiry into Hogwarts High Inquisitor_. From the little he could gather of the soggy print, Umbridge was under investigation for 'unorthodox methods'.

Well, good.

"Harry." Ron grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and practically dragged him out of the living room and up the stairs to their room, Hermione following behind.

"Okay, out with it," Harry said, crossing his arms as Ron locked the door behind them. "You two're wearing the same expressions you wore when you found out I'm a Parselmouth. What have I done now?"

His friends glanced at each other. "Er, Harry," Ron said cautiously. "Have you ever started a fire before? Magically, I mean."

Harry blinked. He hadn't expected _that_. "No. But then I've only just lost the bind. Why do you ask?"

"It's just …" Hermione bit her lip. "Harry, please don't take this the wrong way, but _no-one_ can do that."

"You did it in first year, Hermione, remember?"

"Yes; with a wand! Not even the most proficient wizards in wandless magic could ever produce flames without one."

"I just did."

"Exactly. Which makes you …" she hesitated. "A Firestarter."

Harry frowned. "This is one of those moments when I look really ignorant to you two, isn't it?"

"Harry, mate," Ron said. "Firestarters are about as rare as Parselmouths. They also carry pretty much the same stigma."

Suddenly their reactions made more sense. Harry swallowed. "Oh."

A knock on the bedroom door interrupted Harry's whirling thoughts. "Who is it?"

"It's me," came the welcome voice of his father. "I hope I'm not interrupting, but …"

Harry strode over and unlocked the door. "Actually, Professor, your timing is impeccable. I need to talk to you."

"Yes, so Molly tells me."

Ron and Hermione left the room so they could be alone, and Harry told Albus what had happened downstairs. "Ron and Hermione said I must be a Firestarter—is it true they're like Parselmouths?"

Albus sighed. "It's certainly true they are considered as such. In fact I believe the stigma is even greater." Harry dropped his eyes, and Albus squeezed his shoulder. "Harry, that doesn't make you a Dark wizard any more than the Parseltongue gift does. As I have said before—it is our choices that count."

"Let me guess," Harry said darkly. "The rest of the wizarding world doesn't share your view."

"No, I'm afraid not. Nor does the Ministry of Magic." Harry's insides tensed, and one of Ron's pillows exploded, sending feathers all over the room. "That was rather spectacular timing, as I was about to say, that is another reason to get your abilities under control as soon as possible."

Harry switched his and Ron's pillows over. Albus looked thoughtful, and rather anxious. "Harry …"

"Yes, Daddy?"

He was met with a sigh, greater than before. "I suppose I … shouldn't keep this from you. You see, the Ministry keep a Register, of children with abilities such as yours …" He hesitated.

"Go on," Harry urged.

"You were Registered, against my wishes. I did try to stop—but I failed, and you were tagged."

"Er … tagged?"

"I means your accidental magic is monitored," Albus explained. "The Ministry watch every child on the Register, and if one proves to be, in their view, overly dangerous …"

"We are still talking about _children_, right?" Harry said incredulously. His own pillow exploded.

Albus bowed his head, ignoring the flurry of feathers. "Yes, we are," he replied quietly, and his voice was full of pain. Harry realised he thought he knew the end to this story. "The Protection Against Dark Forces Act—which I voted against every opportunity I got—gives the Ministry the power to have Registered children destroyed, should they feel they have good reason to. When you were six months old, you—you set the curtains alight. Severus was babysitting you at the time, and he tried, but when the Aurors turned up he was outnumbered … when Minerva and I got home he was Stunned, and you were gone."

Harry's trunk blasted open, clothes and books flying everywhere. Neither he nor Albus reacted, except to duck _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six_ and Harry's Pocket Sneakoscope, which smashed on the bedpost. A tear slid down Albus' cheek and Harry sat next to him, slipping his hand into his father's, and had it squeezed tightly in response.

"So what happened then?"

Albus put a hand to his forehead. "To be perfectly honest with you Harry, I'm not sure. The shock … the next thing I remember, it was a week later, and Minerva was crying, and …" He swallowed. "Severus told me it was too late, you'd already been—killed—and they wouldn't … they refused to divulge where …" He wiped his eyes. Harry felt another explosion rising in him, but managed to squash it down, somehow. "Goodness knows how you ended up with the Potters, I'm afraid I can only speculate on that one."

Harry considered, realising he hadn't given much thought to how he could have been adopted when his father believed he was dead. "I guess someone in the Ministry messed up," he said. "Or … you think maybe it was deliberate? Someone in there wanted to save me?"

Albus met his eyes, obviously considering the matter. "It's possible," he said slowly. "It wouldn't have been too difficult, either; the Adoption Office is quite close by. If that's true, then whoever it was, I'm eternally grateful to them."

"Ditto," Harry said, trying a smile. Albus chuckled slightly and pulled him into a hug, before looking around properly at the mess in the room. "Dear me. We are going to have to do something about your love of blowing things up, aren't we Harry?"

* * *

With help from Ron and Hermione and a lot of _Reparo_s on Albus' part, Harry managed to get his and Ron's room into order. Albus suggested he try the count-to-ten trick when he got angry; Harry had just made the resolution to try and avoid anything that might _make_ him angry, and quarantined himself in his bedroom with his homework, determined to avoid running into Snape or overhearing anything that might spark an explosion or a fire.

Though he tried to keep his mind on his homework, he found he couldn't stop it wandering to other things. The pieces of his past were starting to come together now … although there were still so many things he didn't know. What would happen to him if the Ministry found out he was the Firestarter they'd tried to kill all those years ago? Harry didn't want to find out.

Snape was also occupying Harry's thoughts, though fortunately not in any way that angered him. No, Harry was turning Albus and Minerva's words over in his mind. So the man was a git, but then, Harry wouldn't be the first person in history to have someone he hated for a brother. If it meant that much to his father that they got on, he'd give it a go. Besides, if Snape was indeed the best person for helping him control his magic, he guessed it would be worth putting up with him.

Albus kept working with him in the Great Hall, and after a couple of days at it, Harry thought he had finally worked out how to decrease the amount of magic that went into his spells. After that it was a case of practising different levels, and he could sense the relief his progress gave his father.

"So, my boy," Albus said, his eyes twinkling at the end of their third and most successful session, "blown anything else up lately?"

Harry shook his head. "Nope." He told Albus about his self-inflicted confinement.

"I understand the temptation to lock yourself away, Harry, but in this instance I think it might be counter-productive. Shutting yourself away from everyday life is neither practical, nor does it help you to handle the emotions and magic when they do arise. It is also not a very Gryffindor thing to do."

"I don't want to hurt anyone," Harry said.

"Ah, _that_'s a Gryffindor trait. And I realise you must be fearful, but you need to face those fears. Tackle the problem head-on."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, work at controlling your anger rather than avoiding it. The latter can only bring trouble."

That, Harry thought, was easier said than done.

* * *

"Well _I_ could have told you that if you'd asked me," Hermione said later as Ron debated his next chess move against her. "If you close yourself off, you'll just lose more control when you're confronted with something you can't hide from." She sighed as Ron took her knight.

"Yeah, all right, point taken. See me here, being sociable? I wouldn't go there if I were you Hermione, he's got three pieces that could pounce on you and then you're without a bishop."

"Shut up, Harry," Ron said. "Don't help her, she has to fight her own battles."

The living-room door opened and an awkward silence fell between them as Snape looked in. "Oh, it's you three." He sounded far from happy to see them. "Have any of you seen the Headmaster?"

Remembering his 'be nice to Snape' pledge, Harry said, "He was at Hogwarts this morning, Professor. But there's a meeting in about ten minutes, so unless it can't wait that long, you'll save yourself a journey there and back if you wait here for him."

Ron and Hermione stared at him as if he had gone mad. Snape frowned at him for a few moments, as if trying to work out why his bitter enemy was suddenly being nice to him, before leaving the room again without comment.

Harry looked round at his friends. "What?"

"You were _nice_ to Snape," Ron pointed out.

"Well considering how explosive I seem to be lately, I think trying to get over grudges would be a good idea. At least till my magic's under control," Harry said sensibly.

Hermione positively beamed. "Good for you, Harry."

The chess game ended some five minutes later, when Order members were beginning to Floo in. Ron went to pack it away, and Hermione muttered something about an unfinished essay and headed upstairs too. Harry hung around long enough to say hello to Albus and Minerva when they arrived together, but the greeting was literally "Hi" before Snape barged his way in.

"Ah, Severus." Albus naturally sounded far happier to see Snape than Harry felt. "I have some good news."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "What sort of news?"

"Personal … after the meeting, we'll talk."

Snape looked curious, but obediently went into the kitchen and the door was shut.

Harry started to head upstairs, but faltered as a sound came from behind him. A crack, like someone Apparating, and _flump_ of body hitting floor. He whirled around, and his mouth fell open.

The kitchen door banged, and Order members started pouring out, gasping at the sight of Severus Snape crumpled in the hall, looking virtually dead.

**TBC …**


End file.
